Regarding your lover
by Macky19
Summary: During Dally and Johnny's funeral two unlikely characters bond, and one of them comes to an important realization. One-Shot
1. Chapter 1

**I know what you might be thinking**

 **'Oh, my gosh Macky, wtf are you doing? You have two unfinished You have two unfinished stories, you can't write a one-shot!' Well, you know what I did! Because this is important, I'll explain more at the end.**

 **I don't own anything**

It had been a small ceremony, just the gang, Tim Shepherd, who was a buddy of Dally's and said hood's father who had come reluctantly and stood in the corner the entire time, drunk on whiskey. Their friends laid side by side in closed white caskets, and they would stay side by side, the gang would make sure of it.

Darry Curtis breathed in the crisp fall air, his sky-colored eyes not daring to leave his younger brothers. He feared that if he looked away for even a moment they would disappear from him forever as well. Sodapop has remained quiet the entire time, the only noise being his loud sobs. Ponyboy had been oddly quiet, deep in reflection the entire time.

Tim Shepherd was giving a speech when she walked in, he was saying something about how Dallas would have been crossed with them for mourning his death when a cold and slender hand fell on the oldest Curtis brother's shoulder. He frowned turning around, all the while frowning. He was met with a pair of mismatched eyes, one a dull, muddy brown, and the other a bright emerald green. Darry's frown deepened, he only knew one person with eyes like that.

"Sylvia." He greeted. She gave him a firm nod, not a touch of emotion on his face.

"The one and only." She said bluntly. Darry glanced at his brothers to ensure they were still safe. Pony had spotted Sylvia, and his younger brother's eyebrow wrinkled in fury, he obviously didn't want her there. He looked like he was about to go over and perhaps tell her off, but Darry shook his head, effectively stopping him.

"What do you want?" He demanded, feeling himself become a bit overcome with emotion. He expected her to laugh or mock him, but that terrible emotionless look never left her face.

"Well, this is a beautiful funeral." She said sarcastically, instead of answering his question. Darry felt his own temper flare, but as he looked around the room he had a admit that the wilted roses and the drunk man in the corner were not very ideal.

"We tried our best." Darry defended, breaking eye contact. "We aren't exactly made of money, you know." He informed her.

"Uh-huh." She said simply, walking around him slowly in a semi-circle, like a predator creeping up on their prey. "Why are you here?" Darry demanded again, but he had to admit that her pacing was making him a bit anxious.

"So much denial." She said, her lips right beside his ear. She followed the sentence with a slow tsk-tsk.

"Denial?" Darry questioned. She was facing him again, and she nodded.

"How many times have you told yourself that this is what they wanted, being surrounded by their friends and family." She asked, in a slow unnerving way. Darry forced himself to not pay any attention to her. They would have wanted this. He told himself.

Her eyes, those grim strange eyes, were locked on his again. They were two different colors, one brown and one green. She was the only person that Darry had ever met with eyes like that.

"If Dallas was able to plan his own funeral he would have wanted his body thrown straight into a hole," Sylvia said, but now Darry could hear something in her voice. "That kid that always hung around him, he would have wanted that too." She was trying to keep it steady, trying to stay emotionless. "Dallas killed himself." She said suddenly, and Darry's temper sparked once again.

"He was shot by the police." He corrected, turning away from her. Sylvia tsk-tsked again.

"He killed himself because he wanted to be with that boy." Darry glanced uncertainly at her, pursing his lips.

"I'm not quite sure what that means." He informed her, and she gave a blunt, humorless laugh.

"He's dead because he wanted to be with that boy, and Dallas always got what he wanted." He glared at her. "Don't give me that look, let me finish." She commanded, placing her hand on her hips. "If he didn't always get what he wanted then he wouldn't be dead." Darry understood what she meant.

"Maybe what they wanted isn't right." He questioned, though he already knew. Sylvia nodded, her lips pursed.

"This is nice." She finally said after a few minutes of silence. "Not exactly beautiful, but nice." She finished, her hands crossed in front of her. Darry gave her an uncertain sort of smile. She returned it, and Darry didn't miss the tears that were dancing in her eyes, though he never said anything about them.

Darry was suddenly aware of quick footsteps coming from behind them. He thought for a moment that Pony had finally let his temper get the best of him, but as he turned around he found that it was Marie. She was a therapist that had been sent by their social worker, the one who was sent every month to ensure that Soda and Pony were doing well, to make sure the boys were coping alright with the loss of their friends.

"Sylvia Mourney?" Marie asked. The younger female scowled.

"The one and only." She replied sassily. Darry chuckled wondering if that's how she greeted everyone. Marie sighed softly, obviously annoyed.

"We would like to ask you some questions about the death of Mr. Winston." She said in a gentle voice. Sylvia smacked her gum hard, eyes narrowing.

"Uh-huh." She said simply, shrugging her shoulders.

"Before we start, could you please state your connection to the deceased?" She asked. Darry couldn't help but smirk at how different they were. He felt like he was watching a scene from one of those movies Ponyboy liked to.

"Uh-huh, I was his girl." The therapist seemed to become even more irritated, perhaps at her sass or improper ways of speech.

"Alright, now I'm going to ask you some questions regarding your lover," Marie informed her, and as she walked she already began rambling something about confidentiality, motioning her to follow.

Sylvia obeyed, carrying on after the older woman. As she passed by she quietly whispered a single sentence.

"You did well."

 **Ok, so I said this story is important, and this is why.**

 **In all the stories I've read with Sylvia she is either:**

 **a) a lying cheating slut who has no emotions**

 **b) a ditzy blond who usually is pregnant by the end of the story**

 **I wanted to write a story that showed a more intelligent side of Sylvia, one that showed what she knew about Dally that the others didn't.**

 **My reason for her talking to Darry is because he is the oldest, and he is another character who is often villainized.**

 **I felt like I needed to give them a chance.**

 **Anyways, this story better get 1000 reviews or I'm quitting writing forever**

 **I'm obviously joking but I'd really appreciate if you reviewed- Macky**


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, two things. One I know I said this was gonna be a one-shot, well guess what? It's not. But this is the last chapter.**

 **And two, I understand that this isn't how an actual questioning would go, but that wouldn't be any fun to write, nor would it be any fun to read.**

 **Well, please review and enjoy.**

Their eyes judged her harder than their words ever could. The golden-haired girl tried her best to ignore the worry that was growing, but it was there none the less. She didn't belong there, among those people, but she was there anyway.

She was lead to a small room in the back, it had dull grey walls, ones that matched her mood perfectly. There was a desk and a chair across from it, though the only thing on the desk was a box of tissues. Littered on the walls were pictures some of scenery and flowers. A couple of families and parents smiling with their happy children. All perfect and pleased, she supposed the way it was supposed to be.

There was one picture that she tried to ignore, one that hit close to home. A young couple smiling, wedding rings visible on their ring fingers. They were perfect and happy, not just by themselves, but with each other as well. She tried to ignore it, that wasn't her she told herself. And that would never be her.

Marie sat at the desk, giving her smile that was dripping with sympathy. Too gentle and sweet to be genuine.

"Why don't you take a seat?" She offered. Sylvia narrowed her eyes, chewing on her gum hard. The sweet, chewy familiar bubble gum gave her a small sense of comfort.

"I'd rather stand." She said simply. She wanted nothing more than to sit, but she knew it would be a point for the older woman. She needed to show her that she couldn't be pushed around.

"So tell me something about yourself, Sylvia," Marie said politely. She fought the urge to shoot back with a sarcastic comment.

"I'm not anyone special." She said simply, leaning up against the wall casually. She closed her eyes for a moment, and doing so made her realize how tired she was. "I'm no one at all." She insisted, locking her eyes on the ceiling. The social worker's eyes were locked on her, and Sylvia feared she could see right through her.

Marie was standing as well now, but her eyes had shifted from the younger girl to a picture of a daisy drizzled with dewdrops that were at the center of the wall. She made a small sound, one of sympathy. It made her angry, it sounded like she took Sylvia as someone weak.

"Perhaps you don't feel special, miss Mourney," Marie said slowly. Sylvia's eye twitched upon being called by her last name but said nothing about it. "And maybe you feel that speaking about Dallas isn't helpful." She continued, her eyes were locked on her again but she refused to note it. "But I can assure you that it is." She finished, and Sylvia turned so her back was facing the social worker.

There were a few moments of silence. "My father left me and my mother when I was a baby." She said, making sure to keep her voice steady and emotionless. "I grew up on the east side, I was a greaser." She continued and swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in her throat.

"And Dal was a greaser, that's how we met." She revealed. Marie gave her a questioning look.

"He was a greaser? Do you recall if he ever anything rebellious?Perhaps to go against society?" She asked. And it was Sylvia's turn to wear a confused face.

"He was a hood if that's what you're asking," Sylvia said. Her confused look turned into a smile, and though she seemed to be recalling a fond memory, the look had a touch of sadness and grief. "He got thrown into the cooler more times than I can count. I think in a way he kind of liked it."

"So he had troubles with the police before?" Marie's tone went from gentle and sympathetic to cold and emotionless. For a moment Sylvia had the urge to cower like a scared animal, but she forced the feeling away.

Instead, she willed herself to become angry, it was easier than letting herself feel what she really experiencing. Her face showed an image of fiery while her voice was filled with venom, opposing Marie's cold dull tone.

"Are you saying that it was his fault? That he deserved to be shot to death?" Sylvia demanded, looking at the older woman in the face once again. She shook her head slowly, pursing her lips.

"No, I'm not." She said slowly, though her tone never changed. Sylvia cocked a brow but said nothing. There wasn't much more to be said.

"Mr. Curtis says that Dallas robbed a store and that he had no desire to be shot," Marie said slowly, and the cold tone had melted, replaced with her usual professional one. "And yet, his younger brother claims this is false, do you have any knowledge of either of these statements are true?"

Sylvia blinked once. Younger brother? Did she mean the one with the reddish hair? He was awfully young, but he did hang around Dallas a bit. True he was smart for his age, but if she couldn't possibly mean him, right?

"You don't mean the youngest one right? Kinda short, green eyes, weird name?" She demanded absently picking at her nails.

"Yes, I mean Ponyboy," Marie said, and Sylvia could see that she was beginning to become impatient. "Do you agree with the statement it not?" She demanded.

"What difference does it make? That kid lives in his own little world." Sylvia said slowly, frowning as she noticed a hangnail. She briefly tugged at it, wincing in pain as it stung.

"Well, considering he saw the shooting…" Sylvia's world stopped there and then. Marie was still talking, but she couldn't bring herself to listen.

"I h-have to go."

She knew she wouldn't make it to the bathroom, so she ran out the door. Right there in the alleyway behind the funeral home, she lost her lunch. She grabbed a napkin from her pocket, desperately trying to wipe the vomit from her face. Tears streamed down her face and when she wiped at them she could see the eye makeup on her hand.

Sylvia was known as one of the prettiest girls in Tulsa, at least among the greasers. She heard it from Dallas at least once a day. "God, you're beautiful. Looking good, babe." He would say. God, Sylvia would do anything to hear him say that again.

She shook her head, trying to get rid of the thoughts. The action made her queasy, and she threw up once again. She felt terrible, but she didn't have any energy left to cry.

She remembered scolding Darry for denying that Dally had wanted to die. And yet, it seemed that she hadn't accepted it herself.

She sighed deeply, holding her head in her hand.

"God, Dallas, what did you do?" She whispered, pretending that he could hear her.

"I didn't think I would see you again," Marie commented, not bothering to look up from her paperwork. Sylvia sighed, looking at the ground.

"Yeah, well I think you underestimate me." She shot back, but all the arrogance was gone. Marie didn't say anything, and Sylvia knew that she expected her to leave.

"Dallas cared about that kid." She said softly. "He loved him." Marie was looking at her now.

"He couldn't bear to be in the world without him." Marie opened her mouth but said nothing. Then she pursed her lips together, and Sylvia wondered what she was thinking.

"Do you believe that Dallas loved you as well?" Sylvia couldn't bear to look at her, and a look of sympathy crossed the social worker's face.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Marie said gently. "I won't ask again." She said, clearly seeing that she didn't want to answer said question. Sylvia flinched uncomfortably at the pet name but said nothing.

"I always told myself that Dal didn't love me, he didn't care about me. Preparing myself for the next time he would leave." Sylvia finally said. "And I told myself

that I didn't love or care about him either.

She wanted to cry, she wanted to break down, but she knew she needed to be strong.

"And I know that I can't speak for Dallas, but I believe that I wasn't being truthful about how I felt about him." Marie was looking down again, and slowly she spoke a single sentence.

"Thank you, Miss Mourney."

"Hey, kid." Ponyboy Curtis turned around, eye wide.

"H-hey Sylvia." He said, glancing uncertainly at his older brother, Sodapop if she remembered correctly. The blond greaser looked ready to kill her, she ignored him the best she could.

"How're you holding up?" She asked as gently as she could. Being nice wasn't really her thing, but she could manage for a few moments.

"Why do you care?" The greaser asked her sourly, glaring at her. She almost laughed at the crossed expression, it was almost like it didn't work on his facial features.

"You were Dally's buddy, right?"

He looked at her with a sense of pride. "Course I was." He said, folding his arms over his chest.

"And Dallas cared about you." She swallowed hard. "And I care about Dallas." The words hurt to say, and they caused a tense silence. Ponyboy had dropped his arms to his side, looking at the ground. He let out a shaky breath. Sylvia felt a feeling of guilt set into her chest, and yet she didn't try to say anything to try and cheer him up.

Instead, she bent down and pressed her lips to his cheek. He blinked once, surprised, but let her do it. It made both of them feel better.

Sylvia pulled away, straightening herself up, as Pony wipes the red lipstick off his cheek. She turned to leave, deciding to get the hell out of there before it became her funeral as well when the young greaser called her.

As she turned he tossed her something. It was small and round, and she only saw a quick flash of silver as it came towards her. She caught it easily, glancing at it in her palm.

A ring. The ring. The one Dally let her wear when they were on good terms.

He had some crazy story about how he got, jumped some guy or something.

"The cops took it off of him for evidence after, ya know…" Pony told her. "They gave it to me, but I thought you should have it." He said coldly as if he didn't think she should have it. But she didn't care in that moment.

With her own shaky breath, she slid the ring onto her finger.

 **Okay, the end. For real this time. And anyone who's waiting for new chapters for Holocene and the stranger I'm in the process of writing them, please be patient.**

 **Until next time-Macky**


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